


Unforgettable Age

by JamieLegend



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love Letters, M/M, Sad, Victorian, Victorian Age, angst and all that comes with it, no magic, sad gay boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieLegend/pseuds/JamieLegend
Summary: As a son of an earl, there are plenty of expectations on Draco Malfoy's shoulders. He is supposed to be perfect in every sense of the word and fulfill the role given to him by his father and the society at large. But what is he supposed to do when he meets Harry Potter, a young man who inherited his parent's wealth, who does everything how he wants rather than to listen to society?Will love be able to prevail?Or were they doomed from the start?





	Unforgettable Age

One day, all of the gold that he was surrounded with would make him go blind. 

The golden cuffs on his suit, the golden rings his father and mother wore, the golden and gilded rooms of his home, the sparkling gold drinks, the money he was born into. It was all a recipe for going blind. 

Catching his own reflection in the mirror of a banquet hall, he could barely see himself aside from all of this gold. His golden hair, only shown more prominent by his pale skin swept over his eyes. He could see the back of his father's head, as he spoke to some of the ministers that he used to work with. His father never worked in politics – he preferred to control them from behind the scenes. 

With gold, most likely. 

“I assume you met my son,” His father spoke which was his cue to turn back to the two older men. His father lifted his hand and rested it on the middle of his back, lightly pushing him forward. “Just came back from Cambridge as well. My son, Draco.” 

Why did his throat feel so incredibly dry whenever he spoke to these men? It was such a simple game. A compliment here and there, pretend not to notice the way men spoke down to him and women looked at him. It was a simple and boring game, a game he learned how to play even as a mere child who knew nothing better. 

It was easy for him to hate everything about this. To hate how people addressed him, how the only thing they saw about him was the vast inheritance he was going to get when his parents pass, how none of them saw him. 

He was just a name – not a person. 

Draco believed no one would make him think otherwise – he didn’t expect that the one person that would be at the same banquet hall as him. 

“Oh look, Lord Malfoy,” One of the men spoke, and Draco merely looked up. He knew that the man was speaking to his father, after all, why would anyone speak to him. “It’s that Potter boy. Have you heard? About his family.” 

Draco looked confused for a moment, as he tried to remember who Potter was. He knew he saw the name of the family a few times in the newspapers – they had something to do with trains and whatnot. Apparently, there was good money in the railway business, but Draco paid little attention to it. His father always did claim that the railway business will collapse in itself before the first train arrives in London. 

“I believe I heard. His parents died when their ship sank, haven’t they? Tragic.” 

Draco could almost feel the lack of interest his father showed in the tone of his voice. He was certain that not for a moment his father considered this boy’s fate a tragedy: in his father’s eyes, the boy just inherited a vast amount of money. That was the only thing that his father would care about. 

Not the fact a boy lost his whole family. 

Finally, Draco’s eyes settled on the boy that his father and the esteemed lord were speaking of. 

Nothing about him was golden. 

His clothes were simple – they were new and well made, but simple. No golden details, no embellishments where there shouldn’t be any. Elegance in simplicity – and yet he stood with complete confidence, just how his father did what with all of his accessories. 

His hair was dark, curly and wild. It didn’t have the sleekness that Draco’s hair did, yet it seemed healthier and as if it suited him. 

His eyes were bright green, warm and inviting, and he seemed to be chatting with a man and he had such a genuine smile on his face – nothing to what Draco knew. 

The boy looked alive. The boy looked alive as if he was breathing energy. Calm and collected, yet without the detachment, Draco was trained in. 

Something about him was so painfully inviting – Draco wanted nothing more than to cross the hall and speak to him. Ask him something, anything, to see if this boy was really the only thing that was real in this whole room. 

But he couldn’t. 

Draco Malfoy was a lord, son of an earl. His family was a part of Britain before Britain in itself existed. The number of lands they own was envious, among which were a couple of lucrative mines and factories. His family was the definition of old money. 

Draco was the heir to all of it. One day, everything that his father had would be his. That’s why his father invested so much into him. He assured that Draco would only have the best teachers, go to the best schools and be surrounded by best people. He wasn’t allowed to have friends that his father didn’t approve of, he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without his father’s permission. 

Even if everything in him was yelling to cross the hall and speak to this boy, he knew he couldn’t. He knew that he shouldn’t. 

He must not. 

Draco was to be quiet and stand beside his father. His duty was to be charming – but not more than his father. His duty was to be entertaining without being too much. His duty was to be the perfect son. 

How he hated all of it. 

His grip on his glass tightened for a moment before it relaxed. He must not look upset, he must not look anything other than the detached self that his father commended him to be. 

He was nothing better than the gilded cane that his father used. 

Swallowing his want and need, Draco locked it deep in his own heart. 

“My darling,” He felt a cold hand press against his cheek. “You look awfully pale. Come, step outside with me.” 

Finally, Draco lets his eyes focus on his mother. 

She sees him focus on her and the two of them step outside to the balcony. The night is chilly, and he can see the lights flickering throughout London in the distance. A lovely sight, if there ever was any. 

His mother keeps him company for a few moments longer, but returns before him. She says he should stay outside and take in some fresh air before he comes back to join them. 

He is thankful for her as he doubted anyone would notice him spiraling beside her. 

As far as his father was cold and detached, his mother had deep warmth hiding underneath her, like sparkling embers hiding in the coal of the fireplace. His father refused her often, as she only wanted her son to stay near them – but his father insisted he’d go to schools that were far away from their home so he could get the best education possible. 

Closing his eyes, Draco leaned against the railing. The wind that passed through, and he could breathe out for a moment. 

“What a cold evening, isn’t it.” 

Draco flinched and quickly straightened up, his grey eyes darting to see who it was that interrupted his moment of silence where he had let himself relax. No one was supposed to see- 

His panic swelled as he realized it was none other but the Potter boy, standing there, completely nonchalant. Does he not know that they aren’t supposed to speak to one another? That Draco was by birth different to him? 

Draco should know better, he should know far better than that. He knows he’s supposed to scoff and say something snarky and dismissive of him. 

But he doesn’t find any words to convey that. Instead, he turns his head away to look back at the sight before him. 

“Quite.” 

He glances back to him and sees that the boy’s mouth quirked into a smirk before he turned to look at the same sight Draco was gazing upon moments ago. 

“I have no idea how you can stand all of these parties. They are such a bore.” 

Draco was surprised that the Potter boy continued to speak. Why? Why did he want to speak to him? Did he want to get close to him so he would get recognition from the nobility and he’d be accepted into the society where he could climb the ladder of success higher? 

The Potter looked back at him, and the sight of those bright green eyes drove all those thoughts away from his mind. 

“… Who says I stand them?” Draco replied and turned around to face the scenery in front of them and to keep his back to the banquet hall that he had no desire to return to. 

The Potter boy looked at him for a moment, before he had burst into laughter. Draco flinched for a second, surprised to see such a loud show of emotions. 

Who does that? 

Apparently, he does, as the boy’s laughter dies down but a grin still stays on his face. 

“Well, I can say I didn’t expect that from you.” He said and grinned, before offering his hand out to him. “I forgot to introduce myself. Potter, Harry Potter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Draco knows better than to shake his hand and to speak to him. He knows it. 

But his hand takes Harry’s and he returns the squeeze. 

“Draco Malfoy.” 

Harry grinned and pulled his hand back. “Oh, I know. I heard a lot about your father from mine. Quite a man, he is. Your father I mean.” 

Draco was confused, but he figured it had to deal with his father chasing away railway men away from their fields. It wasn’t until he heard that Prince Albert endorsed them that he sold a portion of his lands to them. 

For quite a sum. 

“Thank you. I’m certain my father will appreciate the comment.” Draco folded his hands over the railway, leaning in a bit. 

Some part of him couldn’t help but feel jealousy over the fact that the only thing they could speak of was his father. It always was his father, wasn’t it? 

Nobody saw Draco – they saw Lucius Malfoy. 

It seems it was stupid to dream of a possibility of someone else seeing something else in him. 

He doesn’t look back at Harry Potter – he’d rather keep this moment for himself. Unspoiled and silent, where his mind could later play out lovely conversations. A moment he could keep for himself when everything would be too harsh.

Part of him wanted to turn and ask him something. Listen to him talk, look at his odd expressions. The other part knew he had nothing to gain from here and he should return back to the hall and continue his work of standing silently beside his father.

What was he supposed to do? His mind spoke and his heart yelled – and he didn’t know who to listen to.

“Well, I might care for that if I cared what your father thinks,” Harry spoke and Draco saw him settle close to him from the corner of his eye. “I’m more curious about what you think though.”

Draco’s throat closes and he dares not to think how wonderful those words feel to him. He better not.

“Think about what?”

He finally gives in and looks back to Harry. The man’s gaze is curious as Draco can’t read it. He knows how to read people – he knows it quite well. Yet, this time, he can’t seem to understand what those green eyes wish to tell him.

His heart hammers in his chest, but he refuses to let it show on his face. He can’t let it show.

Harry hums, head tipping back. Draco can see him thinking, the way he twiddles his fingers over the railing, lightly drumming them, the way his eyes shift from side to side. Finally, he turns back to him with a light smile on his face.

“How about – everything?”

If he ever was surprised as this moment, Draco would have forfeited all of his inheritance. Of all questions, he doubted anyone would ask something as broad as this. 

And he couldn’t help it – he laughed.

His laughter was soft, far quieter than Harry’s was a moment ago. Still, he felt so odd laughing so liberally around someone he just met – someone who was nothing like him, and yet…

“Quite a wild request, Ser. I don’t think we have the time to talk about everything.” He retorted with a smile still lingering on his face. Harry’s smile softened at that, and he shrugged. “I suppose you will have to write to me.”

“Will I?” Draco replied, finding himself becoming more and more relaxed. What an odd notion – to be so relaxed in a company of a stranger, when just minutes ago, he was cold and unapproachable around others that he knew for far longer.

“You will.” 

Draco felt an odd feeling settle in his chest. It was as if he was a child again, and his mother surprised him with something he’s been craving for a long time. It was as warm as an embrace, special and odd. Why did he feel like that after this boy told him he must write to him?

He felt a small smirk tug at his features before he pushed himself off the railing. He has overstayed his welcome – he knew that. His father must be asking for him by now and there’d be hell to pay if he was caught speaking to this Potter boy.

“Very well. About everything, then.”

Harry smiled to him, raising an eyebrow for a moment before he too stood taller. “Wouldn’t want anything less, my lord.” 

Draco knew that the other was teasing him, but he couldn’t help it.

It was like looking into the sun – powerful and irresistible.

Surely, he’ll grow blind one day.

And hopefully, this boy will be the last thing he sees.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Any comment is greatly appreciated! Hopefully, the next chapter won't take me a forever to write.


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